


Ever After (If Unconventionally)

by 15Acesplz



Series: Happily Ever After 'verse [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Arguing, Bisexual Grantaire, Crying, Demisexual Enjolras, Domestic, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kid Fic, M/M, Married Couple, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poor Grantaire, Self-Esteem Issues, i feel like that tag goes without saying at this point, once i get my head on straight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/15Acesplz/pseuds/15Acesplz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We should have kids."</p>
<p>Grantaire choked on his tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Grantaire!” Enjolras hollered, while the tea kettle whistled shrilly. “Get the damn kettle!”

“You get it!” Grantaire shouted back from the bathroom.

“I’m not wearing pants!”

“I’m not wearing _anything_!” Grantaire retorted.

So the tea kettle sat in the kitchen squealing in protest until Enjolras was decent enough to dash past the open curtains and lift it off the stove. Soon enough Grantaire joined him in the kitchen, droplets of water clinging to his hair and a tie in his hand. He dropped the tie on the table, prepared a thermos of green tea, and grabbed a bagel from the fridge before kissing Enjolras quickly.

“I’m a little late, sorry about the kettle,” he said, putting on his tie. His hands suddenly stilled, his eyes fixed on Enjolras buttering a slice of toast, and he laughed a little. “Jeez, when did we turn into adults who drink green tea and have real jobs?”

And instead of saying something reasonable in response, like, _‘We’ve been adults for a long while now’_ , or _‘I’m sure I’ve had a real job longer than I’ve been an adult’_ , Enjolras heard himself say, “We should have kids.”

Grantaire choked on his tea, the hot liquid splashing onto his shirt. “I – You – _What_?”

Enjolras shrugged a little. It’d been on his mind for a while, the notion popping up every now and then. “You’re running late; we can talk about it later. For now, think about it?”

He still looked a bit shell-shocked, but he nodded. “Yeah. Sure. _What_?” he repeated.

“Think about it!” Enjolras insisted, smiling. “And go.”

“Okay, I – Bye!” Shaking his head in bewilderment, he left for work.

\- - - - -

Kids. _Kids._ Actual living, breathing children, who Grantaire would hypothetically be responsible for.

He shook the thought off and dabbed some paint onto his paper, checking to see how the color looked on the projector. “So, uh, I added more white to make an even lighter shade of red. And if I wanted to make a darker shade I would take the original red and add, say, brown or maybe purple, and then transition to black. So it’s all red, but you can still add depth by changing the shade. That’s what monochromatic painting is for. And we’re going to link the chosen color to an emotion.” He looked around the classroom. All the third years were staring at him blankly. “Does that make sense?” he asked slowly, and got a few equally slow nods in return. “Okay, good. I have a sheet of emotions associated with colors.” He shuffled through the papers on his messy desk, looking for the sheets in question. As he handed them out his mind drifted again.

Well, sure, he was very technically responsible for _these_ kids, but only for forty minutes at a time, and they weren’t even really children. If he and Enjolras had a kid, it probably wouldn’t be a fourteen-year-old. It would be a young child, maybe even a baby.

He registered that murmurs of conversation were erupting across the room. “So, we only have a little time left, but it should be long enough for everyone to decide a color and an emotion to use. I’ll take the photos tomorrow.” Once he was sitting down the abandoned though crept back.

Lord almighty, a _baby_. An infant, who needed protection and nurturing and was very impressionable. Hell, even a young kid would be just as impressionable, if not more so. Grantaire could just see himself inadvertently but thoroughly causing psychological damage to a kid who could have been perfectly fine otherwise. Once the idea occurred to him he couldn’t see any other result. No, it was obvious that Alain Grantaire never had been and never would be fit to raise a child, no matter how good he was at his grownup job and how many years he’d been sober. Enjolras was constantly reminding him how long it’d been, like it meant something. But, really, it was just a figure, and a sober drunk was still a drunk. He would always be too stupid to know when to stop drinking, and that was why he couldn’t at all. Because he had no self-control, no dignity. Because he didn’t know how else to deal with knowing that he was lazy, and clumsy, and bad company, and a failure.

And that was the one thought that he couldn’t banish. All morning he went through the motions of teaching, while every spare moment was filled with a whisper of, _Failure,_ _disappointment._ By lunch he was certain. The idea of him as a father, as a role model, was laughable. He ignored the slight tremble in his hands and composed a text to Enjolras.

**_Well, I’ve been thinking about it. It’s an idea, I guess. I just don’t think I’d be very good at parenting, haha. I can barely take care of myself, and another person? Lol._ **

A second later, on an impulse, he added,

**_Sorry_ **

A second after the read receipts appeared a call came in from Enjolras. Grantaire picked it up, confused. “Enjolras?”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras responded solemnly. He sighed. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah, fine. It’s fine, I shouldn’t have texted you. It doesn’t matter. Sorry,” he stammered.

Enjolras didn’t acknowledge his words. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am. You’re on the carousel.”

The carousel was an invention of Enjolras’s, referring to when Grantaire got an idea lodged in his brain and spun it around there endlessly until it drove him to distraction. Its official name was the Bad Thought Carousel. Grantaire called it the Shitty-Go-Round. He didn’t answer.

“Grantaire.” His voice was stern, but Grantaire knew that if he was sitting in Enjolras’s office at that moment, he’d see his brow furrowed in worry.

“Yeah,” he allowed quietly. “Yeah, I guess.”

Enjolras sighed again. “You are good,” he started.

“Yeah, sure, but –”

“ _Grantaire._ ” Enjolras clearly wasn’t going to let him argue.

“I am good,” he recited back. _Not true,_ the voice in his head hissed.

“You are important.”

“I am important.” _Lies, all lies._

“You are talented.”

“I am talented.” _Stop lying to yourself._

“And I love you.”

_As if._ “And – and you love me,” he muttered.

“You are good, important, and talented, and I love you.”

_You believe that?_ Well, Enjolras had said it dozens of times before, and he meant it every time. Enjolras didn’t lie. Yeah, Grantaire decided, he did believe that. He let out a shaky breath. “I am good, important, and talented, and you love me.” The voice in his head could fuck off.

“There,” Enjolras said reassuringly. “Think about this. Don’t even worry about what I said earlier. Think about this instead, and think about the other bit when you’re ready. And we’ll talk about it when you’re ready.”

As it turned out, Grantaire wasn’t ready to talk about it for over a week, and even when he did bring it up, casually while the television was on, he was secretly on pins and needles.

“So, uh, how would we do it?”

Enjolras glanced at him. “Sorry?”

“How would we, um, I mean how would you want to, uh, do it? Have kids.” He twisted the drawstrings on his sweatpants into knots, watching Enjolras apprehensively. “Like, would we adopt, or…?”

Enjolras gaped at him, then recovered himself. “Yes, that’s what I was thinking of. Surrogacy is pretty expensive, from what I know, and it just seems illogical when the world is already full of children.”

Grantaire nodded, his eyes flicking to the TV and back to Enjolras. “Yeah, absolutely. So… do you want to? Wait, that’s a stupid question, it was your idea, I was just –”

“Yes,” Enjolras stopped him, smiling. “Yes, I do. I mean, why not? You’re tenured now, and I’ll have paid off my loans by next year. And I would love to raise a child with you.” He must have sensed Grantaire’s lingering hesitation, because he’s next words were, “You’ll be an excellent father, trust me. Better than me, at least.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “Better than you?”

“I killed a cactus once,” he said seriously.

Grantaire burst out laughing. “Don’t worry,” he managed once he’d gathered himself, “I’ve heard that kids are even more indestructible than an actual _desert plant_.”

“So, we’re going to do this?”

Talking to Enjolras had alleviated some of the worries, and they were replaced by a wild, euphoric buzz in Grantaire’s chest. He smiled. “Yeah. Looks like we are.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras was going to kill Grantaire.

The watch on Grantaire’s wrist ticked, a soft, distinct noise in the otherwise silent hallway. He glanced at it over and over, tapping his foot erratically and biting his nails. A few weeks ago, he hadn’t even known such thing as a home study existed. Now, it had him in agony. What was taking so long? What was the social worker asking? Grantaire heartily wished that this round of interviews – the first of many, he reminded himself with a shudder – wasn’t conducted separately. After what felt like a day but was less than an hour, the door to the office opened and Enjolras slipped out. Grantaire immediately stood up straight and opened his mouth to ask how Enjolras thought he’d done, but Enjolras’s eyes were on Grantaire’s hand.

“What the _hell_ have you been doing to your nails, Aire?” he hissed, lifting Grantaire’s hand and examining it fretfully. One of his fingers was bleeding where he’d bitten past the nail bed. “What are we going to do? Walking in _bleeding_ will make a horrible first impression!”

“What does it matter what kind of first impression I make?” Grantaire retorted. “It can’t make this any worse.” The words he’d been thinking all morning spilled out. “People don’t hand over kids to alcoholics and anarchists, Ange.”

“You’re eight years sober, and I’m a reformist. Now only hide that damn blood and I’m sure you’ll be –”

The door opened a second time, and they both looked up. Enjolras dropped Grantaire’s hand as Grantaire tucked the bleeding fingertip out of sight. It stung like hell pressed against the base of his thumb, but he kept it there, forcing a smile on his face to greet Cecile, their social worker.

“Your turn now,” she said pleasantly. He nodded and followed her into the office, his stomach doing backflips. The room was small and cozy, with a welcoming aura. Nevertheless, as she seated herself at the desk and he dropped into a straight backed chair in front of it, he was distinctly reminded of being sat in front of his principal in high school, and felt instantly like an errant teenager again. Once they were both settled, she started, “So, Alain.”

“Um, Grantaire.” She looked up from her legal pad at him and he flushed. “I go by Grantaire,” he muttered.

She just smiled. “Grantaire, then. Where did you grow up?”

“Uh, Born. Down near Lyon,” he answered, his eyes flitting around the room.

“Did you like living there?”

Despite his nerves he laughed a little. “No, not really. Took off for Paris as soon as I could. I’m a lot more comfortable in the city.”

“I feel the exact same way,” she said, smiling again. He grinned tentatively back, and after that talking grew easier. She asked about his family, and he told her about Éponine and the old, resolved conflict with his father, and she asked him about religion, and he danced around admitting that he was a nihilist until she offered up the word for him. But then, she asked, “How do you usually cope with stress?” and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, _that_ is a good question.”

“What do you mean?”

Grantaire suddenly didn’t want to meet her eyes anymore, and settled his gaze on his shoes. “Um. I don’t know if Enjolras mentioned, but uh… I’m kind of… an alcoholic.”

Silence reigned for a moment, before she said, in an even tone, “No, he didn’t mention that.”

He glanced up. She was watching him intently, and again, he felt like a guilty kid. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Uh, I started drinking when I was fifteen, I think? Might have been fourteen. And I started to stop when I was twenty-seven.”

“You _started_ to stop?”

He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “Well, yeah. I relapsed like three times that first year. But it’s been pretty solid for the past eight years.”

“Well, I congratulate you. I know that can be very difficult.”

Grantaire felt a rush of gratitude, and kept talking with more certainty, telling her about how it had been difficult, how Enjolras had always been there for him, always having faith in him, how proud Enjolras was. Soon she smiled and said that they were just about finished. Grantaire shook her hand, and went to meet Enjolras in the hall. As soon as he stepped out Enjolras practically jumped on him.

“Well? How did it go? Did she notice the blood?”

“No, I kept it hidden the whole time.” He examined the nail. It’d stopped bleeding.

“Did she seem like she thought you did well?” Enjolras persisted.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Grantaire snapped, starting down the hall. “She smiled when I left but I think she just kind of smiles a lot.”

“Weren’t you paying _attention_?” Enjolras demanded, exasperated.

“Paying attention to what? I just answered the questions! I wasn’t watching her.”

“Well, you should have been! This is very important!”

“Oh my god, back off! We’re not expected to know what the report will look like before she’s even written it!”

They bickered all the way out of the social services building, and fell into a huffy silence in the car. Enjolras scowled out the window at the rain spattering the windows and Grantaire glanced at him, sighing. The home study had barely started, and he already couldn’t wait for it to be over.

\- - - - -

Enjolras was going to kill Grantaire. He was standing next to Enjolras with his hand shoved in his pockets, smiling at Cecile and the EFA representative like he didn’t know full well that there was an uncovered outlet next to the sofa. A headache pounded against Enjolras’s temple and he couldn’t seem to stop grinding his teeth, his eyes following the two as they walked up and down the room, speaking in low tones and taking notes. They paused for a beat longer than usual by the sofa, and Enjolras shot a glare at Grantaire, who was cringing.

Enjolras could barely manage to focus during the rest of the inspection. It didn’t matter how well the other rooms went. It was already ruined. Couldn’t they just leave?

Eventually, they did leave, turning to Enjolras and Grantaire, who’d been trailing behind them through every room, and announcing that they were finished. Enjolras merely went through the motions of bidding them a polite goodbye, his head still throbbing. He closed the door on them, and rounded on Grantaire.

“How the _hell_ did you manage to fuck up counting how many outlet plugs we needed?” he asked in a low voice, barely managing to keep his voice steady.

Grantaire crossed his arms defensively. “I told you before,” he bit out, “there was a laptop cord in the outlet. I didn’t see that we needed a plug there.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that the home inspection went horribly!” Enjolras snapped. “And all because you just _had_ to be careless!”

“Christ, calm down! It’s one damn outlet! They’re not going to –”

Enjolras cut him off. “Yes, one damn outlet that they’ll have written down as possibly electrocuting any child we may have. Or may _not_ have, thanks to you!” He started pacing the room in his frustration.

“Oh, come on! It’s just one little thing, and they’re not looking for a perfect report, just a decent one. You’re making a mountain out of a –”

Enjolras loathed the insinuation that he was being overdramatic. “How do you know exactly what they want, Grantaire? You don’t!”

“I kind of do! We have fucking piles of pamphlets about how this works!” He gestured across the room at their increasingly thick folder of adoption materials, lying innocently on Enjolras’s desk. “And you know, too, that even if one part of the study is bad another can make up for it!”

“And what part is going to make up for this? Our criminal records? Yeah, I’m sure they’ll say, ‘Well, the house isn’t at all safe for a child, but they’ve both been arrested several times, so it should be okay’!”

“We told Cecile about that ahead of time! We explained everything, and she –”

“It’s a bit difficult to explain away multiple convictions for public indecency,” Enjolras shot back scathingly.

It seemed that after that, Grantaire could no longer master his emotions. “Don’t you dare act like your revolution bullshit is any better!” he shouted, his face red. “Don’t act like I’m the only one who fucked up when we were younger! You’re blaming all this on me, and it’s _not my fault!_ I didn’t fuck up the outlets on purpose! And come to think of it, it was _your_ laptop cord in the way!”

Enjolras didn’t have say reasonable response to that, but he saw Robespierre streak by to seek refuge under the desk, so he just yelled back, “You scared Robi!”

“I don’t care that I scared the goddamn cat, Enjolras, I care that you’re blowing this completely out of proportion and acting like I did something wrong!”

“That’s because you did!” Enjolras shouted.

Grantaire looked like he might explode. “I can’t talk about this anymore! You are acting insane!” He turned on his heel and thundered out of the living room, slamming their bedroom door shut. Robespierre ran for cover again, this time in the direction of the bathroom.

Enjolras stared at the spot where the cat had disappeared for a while, his thoughts swirling. He sat down on the sofa, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes so that specks and stars erupted across the blackness. He hadn’t meant to get so angry, he knew it wasn’t Grantaire’s fault, he was just so, so worried and overwhelmed… Within minutes he was crying into his hands, choking on sobs, unable to stop repeating all the words exchanged in his head. He didn’t know how long it was before Grantaire sat down silently next to him, but his warm presence comforted Enjolras to the point when he could pull himself together.

He dried his eyes and glanced at Grantaire, who was watching him solemnly. He said, “I’m sorry,” just as Enjolras started, “I’m sorry about –” They both paused, and Grantaire smiled sheepishly.

“I know you didn’t mean to miscount,” Enjolras said. “I know that it’s not the end of the world that you did. I’m just so stressed.”

“I know, and I’m stressed, too. We’ve both been…”

“A little bit awful to each other?” Enjolras offered with a weak smile.

Grantaire huffed out a laugh and nodded. Then his demeanor returned to seriousness. “I know that this is going to be fine, and that we’re going to be cleared.”

And as Enjolras gripped Grantaire tightly in a hug, he believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am up too late, so here's this week's chapter several hours early! Wow, what a rough chapter, both for me and for them! I promise that things will only get better from here.  
> The next chapter will feature some kids, yay! The EFA is France's foster care system. And yes, they have a cat named Robespierre. They are so domestic it is quite frankly disgusting.  
> Hope you're all enjoying this as much as I am, and until next Tuesday!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a small scream from the other room, and Grantaire nearly burnt his hand on the toaster.

“You do it.”

“No, you.”

“What if neither of us did it?”

“Grantaire, we have to tell them.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Get everyone in here and I’ll make an announcement.”

Enjolras kissed his cheek and went to the kitchen, telling those of their friends who were congregated there to relocate to the living room. Just as they all filed out, Grantaire said in a carrying voice, “Okay, everyone look at me.” They quieted, and he continued. “We invited you all over because we kind of have some big news… which Enjolras back there,” he pointed him out, and everyone turned, “will now tell you.”

Enjolras glared at Grantaire, who just grinned triumphantly. All eyes were now on Enjolras. “Um, well…” he started, “Grantaire and I are going to… adopt.”

At those words the room burst into noise. Everyone started talking and asking questions at the same time, and Bossuet spilled his drink down his shirt – though that might have been sheer coincidence. Courfeyrac attacked Enjolras with a strangling hug and shrieked in his ear, “Why didn’t you tell us sooner? Ange, I’m so, so hurt!”

Enjolras winced, smiling all the same. “We didn’t want to get our hopes up if it fell through. But it’s almost all set now; the social worker’s sure we’ll be cleared. We told you now because the last thing we need for the portfolio is some references.”

“You’d better make this betrayal up to me by letting me write you a stellar recommendation!”  
Grantaire finally reached Enjolras, followed closely by Prouvaire, who looked like a kid at Christmas and was asking questions without pausing for breath, and Bahorel, who was repeatedly punching Grantaire on the arm and shouting his congratulations at full volume. Grantaire was beaming madly. “Okay, okay!” he hollered above the din. “Shut up for a second and we’ll answer all your questions!”

“Are you doing a foreign adoption?” Joly called.

“No, we’re getting a kid here.”

“What age?” Cosette asked.

“We haven’t decided,” Enjolras answered.

They went on for what seemed like forever, until it was late enough that people started to leave. Before Combeferre left, Enjolras asked him for a recommendation too, and he agreed enthusiastically. When they were all gone at last, and it was just Enjolras and Grantaire alone again, Enjolras turned to Grantaire and said, “So, they took it well.”

Grantaire nodded, still smiling. “Shit, telling people makes it feel so much more real.”

Enjolras returned his smile, the excitement of what they were doing catching up with him. It really had been worth all the stress, in the end, just to be starting a family. Enjolras hadn’t thought of it that way before, but it was true. They would be a family, and there was nothing he’d like more.

\- - - - -

“Ange, are you going to come in here and eat or do I have to make you eat?” Grantaire called from the kitchen.

“Okay,” Enjolras answered absentmindedly.

Grantaire could tell he hadn’t even taken his eyes off the computer. Saturday morning, and still he managed to spend time on work. He sighed. “Does that mean you’ll eat a bagel if I wave one under your nose?”

“A bagel?” was the vague response.

“Yes, Enjolras, a bagel. They’re eaten for breakfast. Oh, wait, I forgot. You only ever eat efficiency for breakfast.”

Enjolras didn’t seem to hear his jibe. “A bagel. Hm. Can you bring it in here? I need to check my email.”

“I already said I –”

There was a small scream from the other room, and Grantaire nearly burnt his hand on the toaster. “What happened, what’s wrong?” he yelled, running in with the bagel still in his hand.

Enjolras sat staring at his laptop, gaping like a fish. Grantaire rushed over and he pointed dumbly at the email from Cecile displayed on the screen.

“‘Hi, Enjolras,’” Grantaire read aloud over his shoulder, “‘I hope you and Grantaire are both well. Just letting you know ahead of time that you’ve been cleared for adoption’? Holy _shit_!” he cried.

Enjolras nodded, beaming. “Read the rest.”

“‘An official notification should be arriving within a few business days, along with information about possible matches’!” Grantaire finished in an awed voice. “Ange, this is fucking amazing!”

Enjolras seemed to agree, because he set the laptop aside and leapt to his feet, embracing Grantaire and kissing him hard. Grantaire responded readily, and minutes later they were stumbling into the bedroom, Grantaire laughing giddily into Enjolras’s shoulder.

“What – what’s so funny?” Enjolras asked as they fell back on the bed.

“Nothing, I just –” Grantaire was still breathless with laughter. Enjolras raised an eyebrow, smirking, and propped himself up on his elbow. “I just can’t believe this is actually happening.”

Enjolras’s expression softened into fondness. “Me neither. And I’m so glad it is,” he said fervently.

At that Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh again, out of sheer joy. “Fucking Christ, we were cleared.”

“Are you in the right mood for this?” Enjolras looked perplexed, but thoroughly amused.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Grantaire waved him off. “We should probably make the most of this anyway. Since we’re going to be busy soon. Busy being fucking _parents_.”

His delirious laughter proved contagious, and when they were just about finished Enjolras declared, “That was the most ridiculous sex I’ve ever had.”

Grantaire found that he didn’t care enough to puzzle out whether he should be insulted.

\- - - - -

The first foster kid they met stood hidden behind his social worker’s legs all throughout the introductions, and once Enjolras and Grantaire had been left alone with him, sat staring at them with big, anxious eyes as though he expected something upsetting to happen at any moment. He didn’t seem at all interested in any of the toys in the living room, intently and warily focused on the intruders.

Grantaire cleared his throat. He felt almost as nervous as the boy looked. “What’s your name?” he asked tentatively, even though he’d known it before they arrived – Hamlin.

Hamlin opened his mouth slowly to answer, visibly hesitated, and promptly shut it, giving a little start.

“Grantaire, why isn’t he talking?” Enjolras muttered, his brow crinkled in concern.

“I don’t know,” Grantaire mouthed back.  
Enjolras turned back to Hamlin, plastering on a strained smile that he seemed to think might be comforting, friendly sight. However, the moment he said brightly, “It’s very nice to meet you,” Hamlin’s eyes widened and his lip wobbled, and he held his hands over his eyes and started to cry in small whimpers. Enjolras looked panicked. “What did I do wrong?” he whispered urgently.

“I have no idea, oh, go – osh, uh, darn it,” he pseudo-swore. “Maybe go find Cecile, or – or _his_ social worker? I don’t know!”

Enjolras nodded and got up, closing the door behind him and leaving Grantaire alone with a crying kid. He had no idea what to say, and was half-afraid that he would never stop and they would be asked to leave. That wouldn’t possibly bode well for their other meetings.

But eventually the crying subsided, and Hamlin peeked up at Grantaire over his fingers. His eyes flicked to Grantaire’s right, where Enjolras had sat, then back to Grantaire.

“Uh…” Grantaire started painstakingly. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t really expect an answer, and was quite surprised when Hamlin mumbled, “He’s scary.”

“Enjolras? The guy with the light hair?”

Hamlin nodded, wiping his eyes dry with his fists.

“Well, shi – shoot,” he muttered. He tried to think how to remedy the situation. “What’s your name?” he tried again.

“Hamlin,” he responded softly.

“That’s a nice name,” Grantaire said, his confidence bolstered by getting an answer. “I’m Grantaire. How old are you, Hamlin?”

He held up four fingers.

“Four! Wow.”

“How old are you?” Hamlin asked in turn, catching Grantaire completely off guard.

“Uh – thirty-seven.”

Hamlin’s mouth dropped open in a small ‘o’. “Wow.”

Grantaire chuckled. “Yeah, I’m pretty old.”

For the first time Hamlin offered information without prompting. “I like blocks.”

“I like art,” he returned.

“Like coloring?”

“Sure, like coloring.” Grantaire was finding it astonishingly easy to talk to a four-year-old. They kept talking, until Enjolras came back in with both social workers. Upon seeing him, Hamlin immediately clamped his mouth shut. Enjolras’s face fell.

“So, what happened while I was gone?” he asked once they said goodbye and left.

“He talked, actually.”

“Really.”  
Grantaire glanced at him carefully. He still looked disheartened. “He told me his name and age. And other stuff.”

“So, he stopped crying, then.”

“Yeah, he was fine.” Grantaire had no intention of telling Enjolras that the first thing Hamlin had said was that he was scary. “Did you like him?”

“Well,” Enjolras sighed, “he didn’t seem to like _me_ , did he?”

“Uh, I wouldn’t exactly say…” Grantaire hedged.

“He started crying when I looked at him,” Enjolras grumbled.

“So, uh,” Grantaire said quietly, “not the best meeting?”

“No.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, poor Enjolras. He doesn't try to be terrifying, but he kind of is. Oh well, it's only the first visit.  
> Honestly there's a lot about this chapter that I'm not quite satisfied with but I think I made up for it with the bagel scene. I'm very proud of that exchange.  
> More visits to come next chapter, maybe even THE one ;D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeks dragged on, with foster kid meetings crammed anywhere they'd fit between two work schedules.

Chapter 4

Weeks dragged on, with foster kid meetings crammed anywhere they’d fit between two work schedules. Most of them went smoothly, without any incidents of crying, for which Enjolras was grateful. A few others were more memorable, one being the meeting with Denis.

According to his file, Denis was fourteen and had been shunted from foster home to foster home from the age of three. When Grantaire and Enjolras arrived, he was sunk low in an armchair fiddling with a phone, and he stayed there without acknowledging their presence as they sat perched awkwardly on the sofa opposite him.

Finally, he said tonelessly, “So. You guys are gay, huh?”

Enjolras opened his mouth, then paused. How did one respond to that?

Grantaire solved the dilemma for him. “Well, actually,” he started, “I’m more bisexual.” Enjolras bit back a laugh. Grantaire caught his eye and grinned.

“But you’re, like, gay-together, right?” He still hadn’t looked up from the phone.

“Gay-married; yeah,” Grantaire agreed.

“ _Cool_ ,” Denis drawled, rolling his eyes.

Grantaire seemed to gain confidence from exchanging words, however unenthused some of them were. “So, Denis! You, uh… What’s that you’re doing right now?”

“Just a stupid game,” he said clearly. “It’s not that fucking interesting,” he muttered under his breath a beat later.

Grantaire wilted a little, and Enjolras jumped in quickly. ‘You’re a third year, right? Do you take an art class?”

“Yeah, they make us take it.”

“Well, Grantaire teaches an art class like that! Third years. Right, Aire?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Do you like art, Denis?”

“I only do the class because I have to,” he said shortly. Grantaire cringed.

The rest of the hour passed in a similarly painful fashion, with Denis making no further stabs at conversation and answering all questions rudely, defensively, or with unnecessary swear words involved. Enjolras had given him up as a bad job by the time they left, but Grantaire stayed unusually somber into the evening. Eventually, while they were eating dinner, Enjolras set down his fork, deciding that he couldn’t ignore the matter any longer.

“What’s on your mind?”

Grantaire sighed quietly. “Denis.”

Enjolras waited. He would have more to say. He always did.

“I just… Meeting him today was like being vaulted twenty years into the past and looking in a mirror. _I_ was that kid. Surly and sulky and… a little shit, if we’re being honest.” Enjolras allowed himself a brief smile. Grantaire went on. “And sure, that’s normal teenager stuff. But you get to a point where there’s obviously something wrong. Or is it obvious, because no one ever seems to notice. Why don’t the adults – you know, the responsible people in charge – why don’t they notice that? Why didn’t my parent notice I was out late and hiding liquor in my room? Why doesn’t anyone seem worried about this kid, dealing with all the foster care fucked-up-ness? What…” He paused, then started up again immediately. “If someone realized I was fucking up in high school, what would have happened? Maybe I never would have gone over the edge. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to _get sober_. Maybe I would just be… okay.”

“You are okay,” Enjolras said fiercely. “You have a job, and me, and our friends, and we’re working on a family. Don’t you feel okay?”

“Well, now I do, but –”

“But nothing. Aren’t you happy now? Why does the past matter if everything turned out fine anyway?”

Grantaire smiled halfheartedly, sighing again. “How are you so smart?”

Enjolras reached across the table and caught hold of his hand. “Don’t worry about things that might have happened but didn’t. Okay?”

Grantaire nodded. “Okay.”

“I love you.” Enjolras said, squeezing his hand.

That time, his smile was more genuine. “I love you, too.”

\- - - - -

“Welcome, it’s so nice to have you,” the woman who’d opened the door trilled. “I’m Margaux’s foster mother. It’s been lovely having her, she’s such a little dear.” She led Enjolras, Grantaire, and Cecile down the hall as she talked. Enjolras noticed two children poke their heads around a corner to have a look at the visitors. “We told her earlier that someone was coming to meet her today, though she’s not much of a talker, so I’m not entirely sure she understood. Oh, here we are!” She stopped at a doorway and gestured them inside.

In the room they found a mess of toys and a redheaded toddler, busily constructing a block tower and mumbling something vaguely similar to real words, while a man seated on the sofa watched. She noticed the newcomers when he stood up and strode to them, growing silent and eyeing them carefully as her social worker introduced himself.

“Well, you two know the drill at this point,” Cecile said briskly. “Just get to know each other. If you need anything, André and I won’t be far.”

Enjolras nodded and thanked them. The foster mother bent down next to the girl and spoke to her in a low voice. She pointed over to where Enjolras and Grantaire stood. Margaux met Enjolras’s gaze, dropped her block, and covered her eyes in a fit of shyness. Enjolras shot Grantaire a gloomy glance. What if Margaux was afraid of him, like Hamlin had been? Grantaire returned the look with an encouraging squeeze of his hand. A moment later he’d left Enjolras’s side and was sat on the floor alongside the toddler, wordlessly joining in the building blocks activity. It was just the three of them in the room now.

Enjolras was focused on what Grantaire was doing when Margaux cried, “No!” Grantaire and Enjolras both looked at her, and she scowled petulantly, pushing her bottom lip out as far as it would go.

Grantaire smiled. “It’s okay, I’m just trying to make a tower as good as yours.” She seemed to accept that, and went back to the blocks.

Enjolras sat down on the sofa and watched them work silently side by side, marveling at how well Grantaire dealt with a two-year-old. It must have had something to do with growing up with his younger cousins.

While he was lost in thought, Margaux said, “Hey!” She was holding out a block and pointing to a considerably smaller one perched precariously on top of her tower. “Help,” she demanded of Grantaire. “There.”

“Well, okay.” He fished around in the pile of blocks, emerged with a block identical to the one already on the tower, and used the pair to hold up the bigger block.

Margaux looked nothing short of thrilled. She stood up and pushed over Grantaire’s tower. His mouth dropped open in astonishment, and Margaux said, “Mine now!” And picking up another block and holding it out expectantly, she ordered, “Go!”

Enjolras couldn’t help but laugh. Margaux turned and stared at him for a moment, before returning to overseeing the construction of her tower. Slowly, it grew to Margaux’s height, and eventually, with a final block and a flourish of his hand, Grantaire announced, “Ta-da!”

Margaux clapped her hands and began to run around the room, babbling something that seemed to be meant as an explanation but imparted no meaning, at least to Enjolras. Eventually he caught on that she was gathering crayons and laying them at Grantaire’s feet.

“Oh, you want to color?” Grantaire asked.

“Yes!”

So, they colored. Margaux scribbled happily all in orange, and Grantaire drew a cartoonish rabbit. She shrieked in delight when he showed her the finished piece. “Bunny!” she exclaimed. She ran across the room, away from Grantaire and the picture, and soon came back holding a floppy, worn stuffed rabbit. “Bunny,” she repeated, holding the toy out.

“You like bunnies?”

“Yes!”

He smiled, and briefly glanced at Enjolras. Then he leaned close to Margaux and whispered something, pointing once in Enjolras’s direction. Margaux promptly trotted over to Enjolras, climbed laboriously onto the sofa, and held out the bunny again. “Bunny!”

Enjolras blinked in surprise. Then a smile overtook his face. “Lovely! What a nice bunny!” In response she pushed it against his chest, encouraging him to take it. “Oh!” He took the bunny, smiling fondly. “Thank you.”

Inexplicably, she scrutinized him again, then pointed at his head and proclaimed, “Yellow!”

Grantaire burst out laughing. Margaux turned at the noise and laughed too, clapping her hands.

“Black!” she said next, pointing at Grantaire’s head.

This time it was Enjolras who laughed. She grinned toothily at him and wrested her bunny out of his grasp, proceeding to tell them a long, rambling story about the bunny. Enjolras caught little else but ‘monster’, ‘wash’, and of course, ‘bunny’, over and over again.

The hour was up too soon, before Margaux even finished her epic. All the adults shook hands, and Margaux waved goodbye to Enjolras and Grantaire with a disappointed pout.

“So,” Grantaire asked in a would-be causal voice as they drove back to Paris, “did you like her?”

“Yes. I, um, I did.” It was a bit of an understatement. Enjolras had been enchanted. He glanced sideways at Grantaire and thought he saw an inkling of the same feeling. “Um, do you reckon we should meet all the matches before we make a –”

“Yes, of course,” Grantaire said with a nod.

“I agree.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is two days late. Please forgive me. I am currently staying in a cabin in the woods. But I'm still sorry. The impending update totally slipped my mind. But moving on.  
> Jeez, denial isn't just a river in Egypt, amirite? See, Enjolras just wants to do exactly what is supposed to be done, to a T. If they didn't do everything the Right Way he'd freak out (as we have seen in the past). He relies on a sense of order and control to keep calm in highly emotional situations. Grantaire just went along with it because he's still a lil bit scared of being a dad. That's mostly what we're going to deal with next chapter!  
> Oh, and btw, Margaux might seem a lot younger than she is (about two and a half) but I promise that's on purpose. Likely due to having such a crazy little life so far, she's behind on speech for her age group.  
> Anyway, see you all next week!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire didn't know who they thought they were kidding.

Grantaire didn’t know who they thought they were kidding. The week after they met Margaux, they met an eight-year-old named Abelle. By the next day, Grantaire couldn’t remember a damn thing that happened at the meeting, except a moment when Abelle had said she wanted to be a veterinarian and he’d thought of Margaux and her penchant for bunnies.

He and Enjolras were decidedly not discussing Abelle, which was strange, because they’d gotten into a habit of talking meetings over right after they happened. It wasn’t until a few days later, when they were already in bed with the lights off, that the elephant in the room was mentioned.

“Hey, Ange?” Grantaire started quietly.

Enjolras sighed and roused himself. “Hm?”

“How many more matches did you say we have?”

“Um,” Enjolras yawned, “four. The next one’s Paul, I think. On Friday.”

Grantaire thought carefully before he spoke again. “Isn’t it kind of shitty to meet kids we know we won’t adopt? Isn’t that kind of jerking them around?”

Enjolras was silent for so long that Grantaire thought he might have fallen asleep, until he said, “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“Should we probably cancel that meeting on Friday, and tell Cecile we’ve decided?” he ventured.

“Yes, we should.”

Grantaire paused. “We’re talking about the same kid, right?”

“I’m talking about Margaux. Why, who are you talking about?”

“Margaux. Just checking.”

The full significance of their decision didn’t really hit Grantaire until weeks later.

Their world seemed to be made of paperwork once they chose to go ahead with the adoption, and it was only worth it because they drove up to Margaux’s foster home every weekend, “getting to know each other,” as Cecile always said.

Margaux was still calling Enjolras and Grantaire by the colors of their hair, and Cecile had suggested that they call each other by the names they wanted Margaux to use until she picked up on it. So, when they were with her, Grantaire was Papa, and Enjolras was Père. They’d gotten used enough to recognizing all their different names, Yellow and Black included, that when it happened it was a complete surprise.

They were getting ready to leave and talking with Cecile while Margaux kept playing, when she decided she wanted to show them something.

“We haven’t much longer to wait before the full transition, so I’d suggest you start gathering the sorts of things she requires, if you haven’t already.”

“We thought of that, too, but we aren’t really sure where to start.”

“Hey!”

“Completely understandable. It can be a little overwhelming, especially since you haven’t been caring for her since birth. I can send you a few online references if you’d like.”

“Hey!”

“Wait, Ange, why don’t we just ask Pontmercy?”

“ _Hey!_ ”

“Oh! I hadn’t even thought of that. And he and Cosette might still have some old things, too –”

“ _Papa!_ ”

The room went still, except for Margaux, who kept waving around a peg of plastic rings she’d successfully put on in the right order. Grantaire’s mouth had dropped open in shock and he pointed at himself disbelievingly. Margaux pulled at the hem of his shirt, answering his unsaid question.

“Papa, this.” She held up the peg puzzle again.

Grantaire struggled to find words. “Uh… That’s great. Good job!” Dumbfounded, he followed Enjolras and Cecile’s lead in clapping for Margaux. She smiled and squealed and jumped up and down.

\- - - - -

“Booster seat or high chair?”

Grantaire nodded, fiddling around with piles of kid’s clothes in their shopping cart. “Yeah, sure.”

Enjolras sighed sharply. “Aire, that wasn’t a yes or no question!”

He looked up. “Oh, sorry. What’d you ask?”

“Which do you think will work better for our living situation – a booster seat or high chair?”

Grantaire massaged his forehead. He was still recovering from the long, wearying debate over traditionally gendered clothing. “Well, older kids use booster seats, so I guess that. She’ll grow out of a high chair pretty soon.”

“Okay. Oh, look, this one hooks onto the back of the chair for extra safety!”

Grantaire stopped listening. They’d been in and out of stores all morning, following along with Enjolras’s four-page, extensively highlighted and footnoted shopping list, and they had only just finished the first page.

“Okay, stroller and car seat… Come on.”

Grantaire followed Enjolras to the stroller aisle, and instantly became confused. “Jesus,” he muttered, “what ever happened to the collapsible strollers with cheap fabric seats?”

Enjolras didn’t hear him. “Okay, which of these do you think is age-appropriate? A lot of them are convertible for infants and toddlers, but we don’t need that. And what exactly are the merits of a zuzu wheel?”

Grantaire sighed. An actual parent would have known how to answer. “I don’t know, okay?” he snapped. “How the hell do you expect me to know this shit?”

“I’m not expecting you to know, Grantaire,” Enjolras replied, sounding irritated. “I’m just asking for your opinion. We have to figure this out, and it’s not going to happen by giving up. Which of these two do you think looks better?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I can’t do this right now. I can’t do it, I’m done.” He was walking away and out of the store before Enjolras could say a word.

Outside, he leaned against the wall next to the doors, trying to breathe. If he’d stayed in that aisle a moment longer he would have freaked out. Although, if he thought about it, walking out on your husband in the middle of a department store kind of qualified as freaking out. He was just so overwhelmed by all this parent stuff, all these important things he didn’t know, all the possible ways he could screw this up.

It only took Enjolras a few minutes to find him. He settled himself in the spot next to him, their shoulders touching. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” he asked eventually.

Grantaire tried to find the right words. “I… I’m not going to be good enough for her,” he said at last. “I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m going to mess it up and she deserves better.” He hadn’t realized it before, but the worries he had were the same worries he’d had when he and Enjolras had started dating. “I won’t be good enough,” he repeated.

“That’s ridiculous, Grantaire. Of course you will. You’ll be great,” Enjolras said decisively.

Grantaire shook his head with a sigh. Did he realize that it wasn’t that simple? He would have loved to just take Enjolras’s word for it, but he couldn’t. “Yeah, I guess…”

“What makes you think that isn’t true?” Enjolras challenged.

_Oh, where to begin?_ “I don’t know, I… I swear a lot and I’m a failed artist and a drunk and I just have no idea why any kid would ever look up to me. I’m a horrible role model, and I don’t know how to parent at all, and –”

“Aire, listen to me,” Enjolras stopped him firmly. “You’re going to be fine. You’re going to be more than fine. You’re a great teacher and you’re caring and creative and smart and really good with kids. Haven’t you realized that Margaux adores you?”

“Well, sure, I’m good at that, but it’s just playing. It isn’t real parent stuff –”

“Look, we’re going to have the entire summer to figure this out. I don’t know what I’m doing either, but we’ll work on it. You aren’t alone in this. And you’re going to be the best stay at home dad ever. Okay?”

He smiled a little. “Yeah, okay.” Enjolras smiled back, and Grantaire felt like the luckiest person in the world to have him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I am very very sorry about last week. This one is on time.  
> Wow, big ol' Grantaire chapter! We're getting close, they're gonna bring home Margaux soon! Exciting!!!  
> Man, there is like only one good designation for a dad in French and that's Papa. Other than that there's only , which is literally just Father or Parent. Ah well, it'll have to do.  
> Enjolras's insane shopping list is an actual document I created in his mindset. It really is four pages long with eight footnotes.  
> And as for the whole stay at home dad thing, they planned (aka I just decided it would work out) to take Margaux home at the beginning of the summer so Grantaire doesn't have work and can be with her for the first couple months while everyone's adjusting. Heads up, their misadventures will probably be featured in some kidfics I'm brewing!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As soon as Grantaire pulled out his phone and started videotaping, Enjolras knew they were in for a long ride home.

As soon as Grantaire pulled out his phone and started videotaping, Enjolras knew they were in for a long ride home.

“We’re going home with Margaux!” he singsonged, training the camera on her in the backseat. “Say hi, Margaux.”

There was an expectant pause, during which Margaux didn’t make a sound. Enjolras glanced in the rearview mirror; she was just staring at Grantaire, looking dumbstruck.

Grantaire cleared his throat and took on a high-pitched voice. “Hi! I’m Margaux and I was just adopted by the coolest people ever!” He twisted in his seat to film Enjolras driving, returning to a normal voice. “And here’s one of them now! Say hi, Enjolras. No, wait!” he said excitedly. “Say hi, Père.”

Enjolras glanced at him and phone with a smile. “Hi, Père.”

Grantaire groaned. “Ange, we aren’t even back in Paris yet. You can’t start making dad jokes _already_.”

“I’m at full liberty to make as many dad jokes as I like,” he said loftily, fighting a grin.

“Oh, shit!” Grantaire said gleefully. This better not be the start of a bad dad joke contest!”

“Don’t swear, Grantaire!” Enjolras reprimanded.

“Shi – Shoot, I forgot. Sorry, Margaux.” Enjolras thought he must be videotaping her again. “Do you forgive Papa? And you’ll never say things like that, at least not for ten years or so?”

“ _Ten_ years?” Enjolras repeated incredulously. “Aire, she’s two!”

“Oh, please, that’s generous,” he scoffed. “I started swearing in elementary school.”

“Margaux certainly will not!”

“Oh, sure.” Grantaire sounded like he was rolling his eyes. “Not in front of you, she won’t.”

“Stop recording,” Enjolras snapped. “I think we have a few things we need to discuss.”

When Grantaire didn’t answer, he looked over. He was holding the phone high above his head, probably so it would catch him and Margaux behind him, and was pulling an exaggerated frown. “Père ruins all the fun, huh?”

“Are you quite finished?” Enjolras demanded.

“Yeah, I’m done, jeez.”

Thy ended up bickering all the way back home, first over the swearing business, then over traffic and routes, then over how the hell to open the stroller. In the elevator Grantaire sat cross-legged on the floor next to the stroller, talking to Margaux.

“We made it! You’re in Paris, Margaux! And we had a good trip, didn’t we? Père only yelled at me five times!”

“You deserved it.”

Grantaire glanced up at him. “I object to that. I only deserved it maybe three of the times.” He was smiling all the same. Enjolras doubted anything could make Grantaire stop smiling at the moment. In all truthfulness, he was having a hard time keeping a straight face too.

They got off the elevator and into their apartment. Enjolras unhooked the safety strap on the stroller and lifted Margaux out of it. She stood rooted to the spot, clutching her bunny tightly to her chest.

“What do you think, Margaux?” Grantaire was saying. “This is home now. Just you and me and Père and Robi – Where is Robi, anyway?” he wondered aloud.

Margaux walked to the middle of the living room, sat down on the floor, and started bawling. Enjolras gaped in horror.

“Oh, _fuck_!”

“Watch your mouth,” Enjolras said automatically, feeling a growing sense of panic. “Oh my god, what do we do?”

“I don’t know!”

Enjolras dropped to his knees in front of Margaux, trying to think. “Uh – I – Margaux, dear, what’s wrong?” She only wailed louder in response. Enjolras looked to Grantaire in desperation. He was tapping something out on his phone and looked slightly sick.

“Okay, um – okay. The internet says she’s probably upset or scared. Jesus, even I knew that!”

“Does it say anything about what we should do?”

“It just says to stay calm. How are we supposed to stay calm?” He threw up his hands and started pacing back and forth.

Margaux was still crying. Enjolras couldn’t think what to do. Maybe if he tried to distract her… “Look, Margaux! We got some toys for you.” He picked up the first thing he saw. “Uh, do you want to play with this tambourine?” He shook the miniature instrument a little. She screamed louder still, if that was possible.

“Oh my god, this isn’t happening,” Grantaire said, mostly to himself, it seemed. “We could try to call Pontmercy? Yeah, do that, call Pontmercy.”

At that point, Enjolras was willing to do anything to set things right. He dialed the number.

“Hello?”

“Pontmercy, you have to help us, please. She won’t stop crying.”

“Who?” He sounded genuinely confused. “Is everything okay?”

“No! It’s Margaux, we just brought her home about five minutes ago and she hasn’t stopped crying since! We don’t know what to do!”

“Um… Does she want something?”

“I don’t think so, we really just got here!”

“Is she hungry? Or tired, maybe?”

“She took a nap before we picked her up, so probably not, but – Wait, hungry? Oh, god, that might be it. Thanks, Pontmercy.” He hung up and looked at Grantaire. “Could you get some of those crackers we got?”

Grantaire nodded. He still looked shocked by what was happening. A minute later, he came back to the living room with a plate of crackers.

“Margaux,” Enjolras said, sitting on the ground again, “look at what Papa has! Crackers! Do you want crackers?” She didn’t answer, except by continuing to cry. Her whole face was pink.

“C-call him back,” Grantaire said tersely.

Enjolras called again. “Pontmercy,” he started as soon as the line was picked up, “she wouldn’t eat. What do we do?”

“Uh, I dunno… is she angry?”

“No, everything was fine until she started crying!”

“Is she scared?”

“Maybe.” He paused. “Probably. But, oh god, what do we _do_ about it?”

“I don’t know, Enjolras, just deal with it. Try not to freak out too much.”

“How are we supposed to _not_ freak out?”

“That’s just what the internet said!” Grantaire chimed in from where he’d resumed pacing.

Marius sighed. “Look, you have to convince her that everything’s fine. That’s not going to be believable if you’re panicking. Just calm down and try to comfort her, okay?”

Enjolras nodded. “Okay. Okay, thanks.” He hung up and tried to be calm. Everything was going to be fine. Fine. “Aire, she’s probably scared. Try to comfort her.”

“How?” He sounded at a loss.

“Just, um, hug her?”

Looking uncertain, Grantaire picked up the still sobbing Margaux and sat down on the sofa, holding her close. “Everything’s okay, everything’s fine…” he muttered.

He held her until he started to look a little ragged, at which point Enjolras wordlessly held out his arms and took her. For more than an hour they did that. It was like a very slow game of hot potato, in which the potato was actually a crying child and you got to pass her on when you felt like crying too. Enjolras couldn’t believe his ears when the sobs started to slow, and then turned into occasional sniffles. Grantaire, holding Margaux, looked just as surprised. Eventually, her breathing evened out completely, and they realized she had fallen asleep.

“Oh my god,” Grantaire said in a hoarse whisper. “It’s over.” Very carefully, he adjusted her on his shoulder and stood up. Enjolras followed them to the bedroom and helped Grantaire silently dress Margaux in pajamas and put her to bed. Once that was done his exhaustion hit him like a ton of bricks. He fell into bed without bothering to get changed and was asleep within a minute.

\- - - - -

Grantaire was startled awake by a terrific banging sound coming from the other room. He sat up and looked over at Enjolras, who was looking at him with wide eyes. They both rushed to the living room to find Margaux standing in front of the coffee table, rhythmically smacking her palms against its glass top and chanting nonsense phrases at the top of her lungs.

“What time is it,” Grantaire asked weakly.

“Six fifteen,” Enjolras answered, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

“Is she going to wake up this early every day?”

“I don’t think so.” Enjolras was watching her with his brow furrowed, like he was trying to decipher to purpose of her task. “She fell asleep at, what, six last night?”

Just then, Margaux noticed their presence and fell silent. Enjolras looked trepidatious.

“Let’s just try to be normal,” Grantaire muttered under his breath. Then he walked over to Margaux and picked her up. “Good morning, bunny-girl. That was some excellent music. Do you want to get dressed?”

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t start crying, either, so Grantaire counted that as a win.

“I’ll make breakfast, yeah?” Enjolras said quietly as they passed.

Grantaire nodded. “Okay. Say, ‘thank you, Père’,” he singsonged to Margaux.

“Thank you,” Enjolras singsonged back.

Grantaire snorted. “You’re such an – I, uh, a very annoying person.” He nodded solemnly. “That’s what I was going to say.”

Enjolras gave him a withering look that was ruined by the fond smile of his face and went to the kitchen.

“What do you say to a bath, little miss?” Grantaire said as he walked with Margaux in his arms through the bedroom to the bathroom. “Does that sound good? I think it’ll be fun, even. I can make lots of foam with the soap.”

He kept up the cheerful chatter until Margaux was bathed and dressed, and by that time he could smell eggs in the kitchen. “Why don’t we go see what Père is cooking up, huh?”

It turned out to be scrambled eggs and toast, and Enjolras was a lot more apologetic about it than he ought to have been. “It isn’t much, but we do have butter and jam…” he fretted.

Grantaire kissed him to make him stop talking. “It’s perfect, Ange.”

Margaux, standing at their feet, had her neck craned all the way back trying to see what was on the counter.

“Do you want breakfast, Margaux?” Enjolras asked. “Toast with jam?” She nodded silently, so Grantaire got the jam. While he was cutting a piece of toast into small triangles, Enjolras whispered to him, “Do you think she’s ever going to start talking again? She hasn’t said a word to us since yesterday morning.”

“It’s going to be fine,” Grantaire assured him, though part of him doubted it. “She’ll talk.”

He was right, after all; when she finished her toast she held out her hands – entirely coated in jam – and said, “Sticky, Père.”

Enjolras looked up from his eggs. “Do you want to wash your hands?”

She nodded, sticking and unsticking her fingers and making a perturbed face.

“Okay, let’s wash your hands. Do you want eggs after that?”

“Yes!”

“Yes, please and thank you,” Enjolras amended for her, lifting her out of the booster seat and carrying her to the sink.

“Welcome!” she replied happily. Grantaire tried and failed at not laughing. Enjolras shot him a halfhearted glare.

After breakfast, Margaux discovered the cat and started to unwittingly torture him. Enjolras and Grantaire sat on the sofa watching TV, and every couple minutes Robespierre would pass in a mad dash, looking terrified, Margaux close at his heels, shrieking and shouting, “Dog!” The few times she actually caught him, Enjolras sighed and patiently re-explained that the cat wouldn’t want to play with her if she hugged him. She would nod and hold still long enough for Robespierre to return of his own accord and sniff her suspiciously, at which point she got too excited to contain herself and gave chase again.

Grantaire made lunch – carrot sticks and peanut butter. By then Margaux had grown bored of the cat and had moved onto a game that involved growling under the dining table chairs, which was quickly forgotten after lunch in favor of putting doll clothes on her bunny. Enjolras was flipping through a news magazine and Grantaire was doodling in a sketchpad while they half-listened to what was playing on the TV when Margaux abandoned her bunny. She climbed onto the sofa, making what sounded like truck noises, stood up next to Enjolras, and wordlessly started to sift his hair through her fingers.

Enjolras froze, and then glanced at Grantaire. He tried to smile, but suspected he just looked amazed. Enjolras smiled for real, and Grantaire grinned back.

Who knew; maybe they really would be fine after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a long ass chapter! It's also the last real one; next week we'll have an epilogue and then onto the oneshots!
> 
> Did I mention that Marius and Cosette have a child? I think I forgot to. Yeah, she's sixish and her name is Fantine (sixish mean Cosette was preggers at E and R's wedding so that's fun). That's why they called Marius, of all people.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and I'll see you all for the epilogue!!!
> 
> EDIT: The epilogue as a concept has been cancelled, it just wasn't fitting in right. So we're leaving it off there, and eventually (eventually) a kidfic will be ready for the eyes of the public. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> At long last, it has arrived! I wonder if anyone was predicting that this is what the third part would be! It looks like a fair bit of this will be about their relationship through the adoption process, but if I'm feeling ambitious and fluffy and demand is reasonably high I might do a few oneshots or maybe a multichap of some plain and simple kidfic shenanigans. I already have a child planned out, but everything in that regard will remain strictly secret for now! ;)
> 
> Anyway! It's been five years since the wedding. Grantaire is an art, teacher, as said, and as said, he's tenured, which means job security! This will never be relevant to the plot but he has to wear a tie and he hates ties with a burning passion, so his grand vendetta against the entire concept is wearing the most ridiculous ties possible - think tacky holiday prints and cartoon animals and French flags. Oh, and third years are 9th graders. Grantaire teaches a beginning art class with a sort of taste of everything, which he loves, because he loves every medium possible and gets to do a l l o f t h e m every year.
> 
> Also, Enjolras is 34 and Grantaire is 36. They're so freaking old now! I literally had no expectations to delve 10 year into the future when I wrote Mistletoe it just sort of happened OTL
> 
> Well, that's enough chatter from me! As always, updates are weekly!


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